


Trenchcoat Jesus

by softjohn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Police, Angel Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, First Meetings, M/M, One Shot, Police Officer Dean, Police Officer Jo, Pre-Slash, Typos, castiel has an iPhone, castiel is an actual puppy confirmed, castiel searching for god, dean has a nokia, dean having a few minor crises, everything is nice and nothing hurts, why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:31:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9177097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softjohn/pseuds/softjohn
Summary: Scarface seemed to be going for the bull-straight-into-them-and-hope-they-fall-over tactic, a ploy which Dean was well-acquainted with. Unfortunately the mysterious figure didn’t seem so fond of it and watched coolly as the man ran straight at it and bounced right off like he’d hid a brick wall.As Dean stumbled closer, wheezing, he saw that the mysterious figure was actually Trenchoat Jesus from the car. Which made a lot of sense when he thought about it.‘Hey, dude, you totally just decked a drug dealer,’ Dean panted, bracing his hands on his knees and looking up at the guy. ‘That’s pretty awesome.’Trenchcoat Jesus blinked. ‘Thank you,’ he replied, after a pause.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from 'Nothing Else Matters' by Metallica

 

_Trust I seek and I find in you_

_Every day for us something new_

_Open mind for a different view_

_And nothing else –_

Giving an ugly burbling hiss, the music died abruptly.

 

Dean Winchester groaned and punched the car’s dash. All he got for his trouble was sore knuckles and a defiant clunk from the elderly radio.

 

Leaning back to thump his head against the headrest, Dean reflected with no small amount of irritation that _his_ Baby’s radio would never betray him in such a way. Unfortunately, he was not in his Baby, he was in a police cruiser, two hours into a stake-out, and now he didn’t even have his music.

 

Dean glared out at the dark streets before him. He and his patrol car partner Jo had been chasing the same douchebag drug dealer for over two months, and he was getting pretty freakin’ tired of it. Now it had culminated in this - Dean sitting on his ass for hours by the mouth of some shady alleyway while Jo waited in a café as ‘back-up.’

 

The phone in Dean’s pocket buzzed and he cursed as he wriggled around, struggling to extract the Nokia from his uniform pants. Damn things were way too tight, and he doubted it was an accident – he’d caught the old bird in charge of outfitting, Gladys, leering at his ass a few times when she thought he wasn’t looking. And a few times when she knew he was, which were worse, because they were accompanied by winks which were frankly spine-chilling.

 

Dean spared a moment to shudder.

 

He booted up his phone, waiting patiently as it whirred through its lengthy start-up ritual (God, it was like summoning a really reluctant demon) to find three texts waiting.

 

**SHORT STACK**

**_hey old man want some donuts?_ **

**_say yes_ **

**_feel the cliché flow through u_ **

Her name was technically Jo, but he’d lord the extra nine inches he had on her till the day he died. Smirking at his own awesome wit, Dean typed out a reply.

**_nah thx im god_ **

**_*good_ **

Then he swore loudly and dropped the phone.

 

It wasn’t the typo. Those were common enough. No, it was the trench-coated guy who’d just _appeared_ out of _literally_ _nowhere_ in the passenger seat of Dean’s car.

 

‘There you are!’ discount David Copperfield exclaimed, his blue eyes wide with excitement. ‘Father, I have been searching everywhere for you-’ and now his tone became all gravelly and earnest, while Dean was still blinking from the _Father_ thing – either this guy was one kinky mother, or he’d missed something somewhere- ‘matters of utmost import are occurring which require your attention. Heaven has reached dire straits without your guidance.’ He then looked at Dean as if what he said next could change the course of history.

 

All that Dean’s poor, confused mind could think of was how Solid Rock was such a great song, and that the guy had totally stolen the coat Bruce Willis wore in that _‘I see dead people’_ movie.

 

After a long moment where it became clear that gormless blinking was not an acceptable response for Daddy-Kink Dave, Dean finally managed to splutter out a ‘Who the _hell_ are you _?_ ’

 

Not his wittiest repartee, but his mind was a bit stuck on the fact that the guy had _appeared out of literally nowhere into the passenger seat of his cop car._

A furrow appeared between his eyebrows, and Dean thought he could detect a hint of hurt on that weirdly blank face. ‘Have you forgotten me so quickly, Father?’

 

‘Okay!’ Dean exclaimed, flailing his hands a little. ‘Stop with that _Father_ thing! I’m not your dad, man! Or your…sugar daddy, or whatever you’re into! Look, dude, I’m not judging, or anything, but I think you shazamed yourself into the wrong car, okay?’ When Trench Coat only frowned minutely in response, Dean continued with a slower tone. ‘I don’t even know who you are. I’ve never seen you before in my life. Swear to God.’

 

The tiny line between the guy’s eyebrows deepened and he leaned forwards. ‘But you _are_ God.’

 

Dean, who was having some slight anxiety and maybe a minor existential crisis, could only make a weird startled noise like air being let out of a balloon.

 

‘I’m _what_?’ he asked, regaining use of his vocal chords, though they’d become a little strangled in their absence.

 

‘God,’ stated the guy, who was seeming more and more like one of the crazies Dean encountered on those really weird occasions that he liked to forget with a few pints and maybe a blonde. Except that those crazies usually couldn’t _teleport_.

 

‘Dude,’ Dean tried again. ‘I am _not_ God. I’m a cop. A _human_ cop. Okay?’

 

‘But…the transmission you sent,’ Jesus Camp protested. Dean wasn’t really sure what his face was doing but the guy seemed to get that he was confused. Out of his trench coat he produced a freakin’ _iPhone_ , of all things, and on the screen were a series of very familiar texts. Standing out were the words ‘ ** _im god’_** _,_ highlighted in bright yellow.

 

Dean stared down at the text and experienced a battle between either laughing until he cried or just crying. Because it was a typo – a damn _typo_ – and this guy had taken it seriously. Seriously enough to teleport into his car, because the door had been locked and even Dean wasn’t oblivious enough to miss someone breaking into his car.

 

Or maybe the guy had been hiding out in his backseat. Either way.

 

‘Okay,’ Dean began, starting to calm down a little. ‘Uh, there’s been a misunderstanding here.’

 

‘I don’t understand,’ Trenchcoat said grimly, sounding like he’d just swallowed a mouthful of granite. The guy would make a good Batman. Except Batman couldn’t teleport. Wow, Dean was stuck on that.

 

‘Yeah, join the club, man,’ Dean huffed. A flash of movement caught his eye and – there he was! There he was, the shady bastard who he and Jo had been chasing for for _months_ , and Dean actually totally forgot about Teleporting Fox Mulder for a moment as he scrabbled for the door, eyes glued to the dealer as he hurried down the night-darkened street. He leapt out of the car, abruptly recalled the guy, spun back around to give a quick ‘Be right back, dude’ before sprinting after his perp.

 

Shady McShadyboots glanced over his shoulder at the sound of approaching footfalls – okay, so subtlety had never been Dean’s strong suit, and holy _shit_ did that guy actually have a scar down the middle of his face?

 

‘Stop!’ Dean shouted. ‘Police!’

 

In response, Scarface flung himself forwards into a sprint. Yeah, that trick never really worked.

 

Dean tried to will his own legs to move faster. The orange streetlights blurred as he pushed himself on and, God help him, began to regret the two pies he’d eaten earlier that day. The perp skidded around a corner and Dean followed a couple of seconds later, clutching at the stitch beginning to form in his chest. 

 

The alley which Drug-Dealing Inigo Montoya led him down was about the grossest gross alleyway possible, and it was Dean’s _awesome_ luck which meant it was his perp who’d found it. The brick walls were way too close together, the floor was slimy, trash lay around like environmentally unfriendly snowfall, and to top it off the whole thing smelled like cat piss.

 

Also, Dean thought as he tried not to slip on the various puddles of dubious origin, there was the matter of the freaky silhouette at the end of the alley, which he was pretty damn sure had not been there two seconds ago.

 

Scarface seemed to be going for the bull-straight-into-them-and-hope-they-fall-over tactic, a ploy which Dean was well-acquainted with. Unfortunately the mysterious figure didn’t seem so fond of it and watched coolly as the man ran straight at it and _bounced right off_ like he’d hid a brick wall.

 

As Dean stumbled closer, wheezing, he saw that the mysterious figure was actually Trenchoat Jesus from the car. Which made a lot of sense when he thought about it.

 

‘Hey, dude, you totally just decked a drug dealer,’ Dean panted, bracing his hands on his knees and looking up at the guy. ‘That’s pretty awesome.’

 

Trenchcoat Jesus blinked. ‘Thank you,’ he replied, after a pause.

 

Dean busied himself by cuffing his perp, muttering the Miranda rights just in case the guy was only pretending to be asleep in the hopes of suing him later. He really didn’t have the bank balance to suffer a lawsuit. When he was finished, he looked up to see Trenchcoat Jesus watching him like he was a particularly confusing ant.

 

‘What are you, anyway?’ Dean asked. He was still crouching. The guy tilted his head, looking even more befuddled than before.

 

‘I am an angel of the Lord.’

 

It was Dean’s turn to take a moment. His eyebrows went up and he opened his mouth, then closed it, frowned, tried to speak again and gave up.

 

‘This is…startling for you?’ the guy asked. No way he was an angel, right? He was probably just crazy. He _looked_ crazy, with the scruffy freshly-electrocuted hair and the massive trenchcoat and the tie. Jesus, the tie.

 

But there was the whole teleportation thing.

 

‘Uh, _yeah_ ,’ Dean scoffed. He clambered to his feet, brushed off his knees, then regretted it when he looked at the sludge left on his palms. So not awesome. ‘It’s not really common to meet a dude in a trenchcoat saying he’s a freakin’ _angel_.’

 

Maybe-Crazy’s brow crumpled, his blue basset-hound eyes serious. ‘But I am an angel.’

 

One of Dean’s usual scathing retorts was on the tip of his tongue, but something made him pause. Maybe it was the stiff, uncomfortable, alien way the guy was holding himself. Maybe it was the way his eyes seemed way too old for his face. Maybe it was the way he’d goddamn _teleported_. Twice.

 

‘Maybe,’ Dean muttered, before grabbing Scarface’s arm and hauling him to his feet. He tottered, making weird unintelligible sounds, and fell face-first towards the wall. Dean thought of the piles of paperwork he’d had to complete because of this guy, and didn’t really make much effort to stop him. There had been a _lot_ of paperwork. And the kid whose mother was in the hospital because of his goons. But that definitely had nothing to do with it. Dean was _ice-cold_ , okay? Sammy could shut his mouth.

 

‘Where are you taking him?’

 

Pausing from where he had squatted to fully appreciate the sight of McShadyboots’ face pressed into one of those dubious puddles, Dean glanced up at the…angel? Yeah, that was weird. And maybe Dean would have a slight existential crisis later on. But right then he was freakin’ dealing, okay, because if Trenchcoat Jesus was really an angel there was no way Dean was panicking in front of him.

 

‘Back to the station,’ Dean replied, voice strained as he heaved his perp back to his feet. It was like the guy was getting heavier each time. ‘This mother’s going away for a long, long time.’

 

The maybe-angel looked from Dean to the perp with a confused frown that didn’t really make sense until he said, ‘This man is a mother?’

 

Dean froze. ‘What?’

 

‘You said that he was a mother,’ he continued. ‘Yet I was under the impression that he was male, unless humans have changed so much since I last visited-’

 

‘Jeez, no! Dude, it’s an expression,’ Dean replied quickly, almost startled into laughing. Either this guy was actually an angel, or he’d grown up in some sorta super isolationist crazy cult, because no way anyone else could be that wrong.

 

‘An- Oh. I see…’

 

The angel trailed off and glanced away. His resemblance to a basset hound puppy was seriously getting ridiculous, but Dean quickly made himself stop thinking that. What if he could read Dean’s mind? He was an angel, right? Was thinking that an angel looked like a puppy offensive? The guy could probably smite Dean where he stood. Shoot.

 

‘So, you are… _not_ God,’ he said again, as if giving Dean one last chance to yell ‘ _Surprise! I_ am _God! Just kidding with ya!’_

 

Dean huffed a derisive laugh. ‘Pretty sure.’

 

He then spaced out for a moment as he tried to imagine the thought of anyone mistaking _him_ for God. Yikes. Giving himself a quick mostly-mental shake, Dean hauled Scarface over his shoulders with a groan and prepared for the slog back to the cruiser.

 

He glanced back at the probable angel.

 

‘So, uh…’

 

‘What is your name?’ Mr. Celestial interrupted, and Dean thought he might have been able to detect a hint of curiosity beneath the gravelly monotone. He’d been meaning to say goodbye – as well as you could to an angel who’d teleported into your car thinking you’re their apparently long-lost father only to actually catch your super-irritating perp for you.

 

Shifting Scarface slightly across his shoulders, Dean considered his options for a moment. On the one hand, this was some dude who he’d just met, and who’d knocked out a guy simply by not moving. On the other, he was an actual angel who’d probably be able to find out his name anyway if he really wanted to. And if he went digging around in Dean’s head, he might find the basset hound comparisons, flip out, and become Smity McSmiterton.

 

Inwardly, Dean shuddered.

 

‘Dean Winchester,’ he said. ‘I’d shake your hand, but, uh-’

 

‘Oh.’ Accountant Cherub glanced at the snoring Scarface, blinked, and the weight abruptly disappeared. For a moment Dean stumbled with the sudden loss. Then he blinked up owlishly at the angel, who had a slight furrow between his brows.

 

‘Are you alright?’

 

‘Yeah,’ Dean managed. ‘Uh, thanks.’

 

He straightened and brushed off his jacket to have something to do with his hands, trying not to seem too shell-shocked.

 

‘The man is now in the back seat of your car,’ the angel told him. ‘I assume that is where you wanted him?’

 

God, the puppy analogy was ridiculous, but it was _so accurate_. He looked like a dog which was scared it’d done something wrong. Except human-ish. And middle-aged. And trenchcoat-wearing.

 

Dean nodded slowly. ‘Yes,’ he said, working through the fact that this guy could teleport things other than himself. He remembered to hastily tack on a ‘Thank you.’ Mama Winchester had managed to impress the importance of manners upon him, at least, which he viewed as extra important when meeting an angel more reminiscent of the Terminator than a Valentine’s Cupid.

 

The angel dipped his chin slightly in response. ‘My name is Castiel.’

 

Dean wished he’d at least attempt a smile; the whole perfect pokerface thing was starting to freak him out.

 

‘Look, uh…I hope you find your dad,’ Dean said. ‘Absent parents suck ass. And thanks for knocking that guy out.’

 

‘It was no problem,’ Cas replied absently. His stare was kind of intense. Dean looked away, scratched at the nape of his neck, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. He couldn’t really come up with a reason why he hadn’t left already, other than the indistinct memory of Sam calling him a sucker for puppy eyes. And Cas had perpetual puppy eyes. Like, _all the time._

 

‘Okay. Well, I’d better go jail that guy before he skips arrest again. Jo would totally have my ass if he escaped on my watch. I’d never live it down, man.’

 

He was pinned under Cas’s discerning blue stare for a moment longer before it softened slightly in intensity. ‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘Goodbye, Dean.’

 

‘’Bye, Cas.’

 

After an awkward pause where Dean sort of expected Cas to disappear in a flash of dramatic light, or grow wings or fly away, or something, Dean gave a weird sort of head-tilt of farewell and spun on his heel to walk back to his car.

 

Before he could get too far, a call of his name stopped him.

 

‘Dean.’

 

He looked back over his shoulder to see Cas showing more emotion than he had since he’d been under the impression that Dean was God. Cas was half-turned away from him, but poised and leaning forwards incrementally, as if about to take a step in his direction. There was an oddly hopeful look in his eyes, and a curved thing that might’ve almost been a smile revealing straight white teeth.

 

‘Can I…visit you again?’

 

Dean felt a weird, unnameable emotion curl deep inside himself. At first it just made him really super uncomfortable; but after looking back to Cas’s face and the expression brightening it, he found a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

 

He shrugged. Keep it cool, Dean. Even when it’s a freakin’ angel making you feel all strange and fuzzy and slightly maybe not-heterosexual.

 

Dean put yet another freak-out on the shelf to have later.

 

‘Yeah, sure,’ he replied. ‘Why not?’

 

In response, Cas grinned – a proper, bright, happy grin.

 

Dean nodded quickly and spun to walk away, hearing the rushing flap of wings and knowing, instinctively, that Cas was gone.

 

Damn.

 

Sammy was going to give him _hell_ for this one.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [For your consideration, a comparison of Castiel vs. a basset hound puppy](http://softjohn.tumblr.com/post/155295426882/please-tell-me-im-not-the-only-one-who-noticed)
> 
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> [My tumblr](http://softjohn.tumblr.com/) because of course I'm on that trash website
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! :-)


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